Eden and Vassiel rode side by side through the narrowing streets, their horses moving at a controlled pace that did little to calm the tension between them.
The further they pushed toward the center of the city, the more deliberate everything felt. Buildings rose taller, closer together, their upper levels nearly touching as if conspiring overhead. Windows were shuttered despite the hour. Conversations softened when the two passed. Even the rhythm of hooves striking stone echoed louder than it should have.
Eden adjusted his posture in the saddle, his ribs still aching faintly from wounds not fully healed. He tried not to show it.
Vassiel noticed anyway.
Without turning his head, Vassiel subtly shifted his hand, two fingers extending briefly before angling toward a narrow alley ahead.
A signal.
Eden gave the faintest nod and steered his horse toward the shadowed passage without hesitation.
They dismounted just inside the alley's mouth. The air was cooler there, heavy with damp stone and stale refuse. Vassiel guided both horses deeper into shadow where they wouldn't be immediately visible from the main road.
Only once the street noise dulled did he speak.
"We are being followed."
His voice was low, measured.
Eden stilled. "By who?" he asked. "Is it the guards?"
"I don't know," Vassiel replied, eyes fixed on the alley entrance. "But I've felt someone trailing us since the guards kicked us out."
Eden frowned. "I haven't noticed anything." He exhaled slowly. "I'm not exactly in top shape."
His gaze drifted back toward the street, toward the steady flow of citizens moving in controlled patterns.
"Still… everything here is strange."
"At least we know the bartender recognized the symbol," Eden added. "He reacted."
Vassiel's expression didn't change. "Recognition doesn't mean cooperation. He might not be useful to us."
"Well, we at least have to hear him out," Eden said quietly. "It's the only lead we have."
Before Vassiel could respond, his eyes narrowed slightly.
"Shh," he murmured. "He's coming."
Footsteps echoed along the stone outside the alley. Slow. Intentional.
A guard emerged into view at the street's edge. His armor was polished but not ornate, practical and uniform. His gaze moved methodically from storefront to passerby, scanning faces, corners, shadows.
Searching.
Eden felt his pulse sharpen.
"He's searching," Vassiel whispered. "Hide."
Eden stepped backward into deeper darkness, pressing himself between stacked crates and the cold alley wall. He forced his breathing to slow, ignoring the faint throb in his side.
Vassiel moved differently.
He lowered himself near a pile of discarded cloth and debris and pulled a tattered blanket over his shoulders, curling his posture until he resembled nothing more than another forgotten figure against the stone.
The guard stepped into the alley.
Boots scraped softly.
He advanced.
Eden watched from shadow as the guard's gaze passed over the crates, the corners, the refuse.
Closer.
Closer.
The distance between them shrank to a few paces.
Eden's hand hovered near the hilt at his side, ready despite knowing it would be a mistake to draw it.
The guard paused.
His head tilted slightly, as if listening for something beyond sound.
For a moment, Eden was certain their eyes would meet.
Then the guard turned away.
He stepped back toward the street, posture unchanged.
Before leaving the alley, he raised his forearm to his mouth and spoke into the metal bracer strapped there.
"The imperfect are nowhere to be seen," he said evenly. "They may have fled the city."
The imperfect.
The words lingered long after his footsteps faded.
Eden did not move.
Neither did Vassiel.
They waited in silence.
Only when the street's rhythm returned to something normal did Vassiel carefully remove the blanket and stand.
Eden stepped from the shadows, tension still coiled in his shoulders.
"They're tracking us," Vassiel said. "We should leave. Regroup somewhere outside the city and plan properly."
"No," Eden replied immediately. "We can't leave without knowing what that symbol means."
Vassiel's jaw tightened. "Do you want us behind bars? We can't do anything if we're imprisoned."
"They're already calling us imperfect," Eden said. "That doesn't sound like they intend to talk."
Vassiel glanced toward the main street. "This city is controlled," he said quietly. "There's order. That doesn't happen without structure."
Eden's gaze followed the citizens instead — their lowered heads, their careful spacing.
"Order?" he muttered. "We just buried an entire family."
Vassiel's eyes shifted back to him.
"Their crest erased," Eden continued. "Their guards stripped of insignias. Bodies arranged like a message." His voice remained steady, but something colder threaded beneath it. "That wasn't chaos. That was deliberate."
"Or contained," Vassiel countered calmly.
Eden looked at him.
"Contained?"
"If something threatens a system," Vassiel said, "it gets removed. That doesn't automatically mean the system itself is corrupt."
"It means someone decided who was worth removing," Eden replied.
A pause stretched between them.
"And if that decision prevented something worse?" Vassiel asked.
Eden's jaw tightened slightly. "You didn't see those corpses and think 'prevention.'"
Vassiel didn't answer immediately.
"I saw control," he said at last.
Silence settled heavily in the alley.
Eden looked back toward the city center. "If a place has to hunt people for asking questions," he said quietly, "it deserves to be challenged."
"Challenged," Vassiel repeated. "Or dismantled?"
"If it's rotten," Eden replied, "you don't patch it."
"And what replaces it?" Vassiel asked.
Eden didn't hesitate. "Something better."
Vassiel studied him for a long moment.
"Something better," he echoed softly.
The tension eased slightly, but not completely.
"You're right," Eden said after a moment. "It's dangerous. But it's a risk I'm willing to take. You don't have to come with me."
Vassiel closed his eyes briefly and exhaled through his nose, then dragged a hand across his forehead.
"Fine," he muttered. "If we stay, we don't move openly."
Eden waited.
"We find refuge inside the city," Vassiel continued. "Somewhere they won't look first. We change our appearance. Masks. Hoods. Anything to obscure our faces. If they're searching for us, we give them someone else."
Eden nodded slowly. "Yeah. We do that."
A brief pause.
"But we still go to the bartender."
Vassiel let out a tired sigh. "You're determined."
"He recognized the symbol," Eden said. "That wasn't fear. That was familiarity."
"Or self-preservation," Vassiel replied.
"Either way," Eden said, "he knows something."
Vassiel looked toward the main road again, watching another patrol pass in precise intervals.
"Alright," he said finally. "We move carefully. No sudden turns. No lingering."
"It's not like you were listening to me before," he added dryly.
Eden allowed a faint, fleeting smirk. "I heard you."
They led the horses back toward the alley entrance.
Before stepping out, both scanned the street once more. Guards passed at measured intervals. Citizens moved with quiet compliance. The city functioned like a machine — efficient, controlled.
Predictable.
Eden mounted first despite the lingering ache in his body.
Vassiel followed.
They rode back into the flow of the street, posture calm, movements deliberate.
As they continued toward the center, Eden's thoughts returned to the words spoken moments earlier.
The imperfect.
He didn't know what that meant.
But he had the distinct feeling the city did.
And that was reason enough not to turn back.